


Pouring Misery

by monchy



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-29
Updated: 2012-05-29
Packaged: 2017-11-06 05:46:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/415413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monchy/pseuds/monchy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Have you ever made love under the rain, Master Windu?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pouring Misery

“Have you ever made love under the rain, Master Windu?”  
   
The answer was no, and that moment seemed better than any other to change that, appropriate even. After all, what better time to go under the rain than that after a betrayal? It was just like a novel, a sympathetic weather for the tragic lead of the written pages. Only this was real life. And real life… real life was Skywalker’s rough hands on his stomach, his body against his back, while Mace’s hands clutched firmly the trunk of a tree so he wouldn't fall to the floor, even more humiliated.  
      
But it didn’t matter anymore, because seeing Quinlan with Obi-Wan had made everything unimportant. Quinlan had talked about love, and he had lied. And this? What was this? Love? No, shared hate, rain falling on two bodies which moved to a same rhythm but that didn’t fit, violence, needed aggression against something, someone, tears exchanged for guttural groans.  
   
“Did you know?”  
   
The answer was no, no, no, nonononono, no! He wouldn’t have given so much of himself if he had. Quinlan, dammed Quinlan! For a moment, he had made him believe that… he had made him believe.  
   
“Do you hate me, Master Windu?”  
   
The answer was yes, assertive, deep, eternal. Yes. Perhaps that was why he trusted Skywalker to hurt him, to thrust violently, to dig his nails on his sensitive skin, to not pay attention to the blood trailing from his hands to the muddled ground. Quinlan had cared, ha! Had pretended to care. Bastard, bastard, bastard!  
  
But now it didn't matter, not at all. If he screamed, cried, hurt or died, there would be no one there to change that. Then again, there had never been. There had only been this, during his whole life, this low feeling of hatred burning low in his stomach, feeding his soul, filling his eyes with something that couldn't even be called regret.  
  
“It’s good to have a fucking constant in one’s life, isn’t it?”  
   
The answer was yes. Skywalker, of all people, understood. Who would have thought that Skywalker would be the one to understand everything? Maybe it was because he was the other part of the tragedy, another piece torn apart by hands that could only break hearts, another body under the pouring rain.  
      
And what was this? Was this love? No, it was misery.


End file.
